


Don't Worry

by SherlockedWitch



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Accidental wetting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Omorashi, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 10:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockedWitch/pseuds/SherlockedWitch
Summary: It’s not really bad, not yet. Uncomfortable, but not immediately urgent. A small pressure. Surely he’ll be fine, he tells himself. No reason to panic, and panicking won’t do him any good. It’s not that far. Forty, maybe fifty minutes.That’s what Freddie tells himself— and then, because his bad luck has impeccable timing… they hit traffic.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Don't Worry

**Author's Note:**

> This is the traffic-jam-stuck-in-car omo trope I finally got around to writing! Hope you enjoy.

Freddie knew the second he got into the car that he might have made a mistake. He usually always goes to the loo before a drive, if he can, but he’d been so caught up in conversation with Brian that it had inexplicably slipped his mind. It wouldn’t be a problem, except — he already has to go, he can feel it. 

Fuck. 

It’s not really bad, not yet. Uncomfortable, but not immediately urgent. A small pressure. Surely he’ll be fine, he tells himself. No reason to panic, and panicking won’t do him any good. It’s not that far. Forty, maybe fifty minutes. 

That’s what Freddie tells himself— and then, because his bad luck has impeccable timing… they hit traffic. 

Bad traffic. Not that any traffic is good, but there’s a sea of cars, backed up for quite a ways. He can’t even tell how far exactly.

After twenty minutes at a near standstill, Freddie starts to get rather nervous. 

“You okay?” Brian asks, pausing in the middle of his attempt to fill the silence. Freddie has seemed more and more distracted, and now he cannot help but notice how restless he’s getting, too. He’d thought perhaps he was just bored, already tired of being stuck in the car - he can’t blame him, Brian is too - but the flicker of pain that’s just crossed Freddie’s face makes him reconsider. 

“Yes, I’m okay,” Freddie answers, but his voice is meek. Unconvincing, he thinks to himself. Stupid. Couldn’t he have made a better attempt at lying?

He doesn’t want to tell Brian what’s wrong. For one, there’s nothing he can really do about it right now. Besides - he can hold it. He _should_ hold it. Surely it can’t be that much longer, can it? They have to start moving soon enough. They have to. 

Brian doesn’t buy it.

“No, you don’t sound okay,” he says, trying not to sound accusatory, but trying to let Feddie know that he’s seeing right through him at the same time. “What’s wrong?”

“I just - “ Freddie bites his lip, glancing out the window. Avoiding eye contact, Brian realizes. “I - I need… um - sorry, I - I need the loo.” 

He fumbles with the confession so much that it takes Brian a second to even process what he’s said. Oh. 

Oh, damn. 

“Oh… okay, well - it’s alright,” Brian reassures, because Freddie still isn’t looking at him, but he can tell how red his face has grown. He’s embarrassed. It makes sense. Freddie can be such a shy thing, especially even about this specific subject. 

“I’m sorry,” Freddie mumbles, almost inaudibly. He feels like an idiot. They haven’t even been stuck here all that long, and he’s already complaining about something. 

He bites his lip again, wriggling for a moment, although he doesn’t mean to do it. He can’t help it, really - it’s getting harder and harder to sit still. For as much as he didn’t want to admit that he needed to go, he… really does need to go now. It’s steadily intensifying, a constant ache nagging at him. It’s gone from mildly uncomfortable to quite uncomfortable. He’s always had a bit of trouble holding it for long periods of time, especially after he already needs to go, so it isn’t a surprise, but it’s still very much unwanted. Why now, of all times? Why today didn’t he go before getting in the car? 

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything - don’t worry. Hopefully we’ll start moving soon,” Brian says, growing a bit more worried every time he sees Freddie squirm. 

“Try and think about something else, maybe?” Brian suggests after a beat of tense silence, and admittedly, it’s pathetic advice. He glances over just in time to catch Freddie shooting him an unreadable look. 

“Well, I don’t know what else to tell you,” Brian sighs quietly, a hint of frustrating seeping into his voice unintentionally. He’s not frustrated with Freddie himself — he’s frustrated at the situation they’re in. 

This clarification doesn’t come across so easily in just his tone, however. Freddie’s face immediately falls when he picks up on the exasperation behind Brian’s words. Anxiety bubbles up inside him; he hadn’t meant to make Brian annoyed. He doesn’t mean to be such a nuisance. 

“I know—I’m sorry,” Freddie apologizes again, sounding terribly small all of a sudden. He glances out the window, shifting in his seat for the millionth time. It’s starting to actually hurt. His muscles feel stretched, tight, tense. Too much liquid inside of him, getting harder and harder to hold back. 

Brian inches forward as the car in front of him moves up a bit, but traffic quickly goes back to being at a standstill. They’ve barely moved at all. He looks over at Freddie once again when he hears his apology, and Brian has to remind himself that, despite however much Freddie attempts to hide it, he’s quite sensitive. He picks up on the tiniest changes in mood, tone, behavior. He’s quick to think he’s done something wrong, that he’s caused someone to be angry, or upset—which is probably what he’s thinking right now. Brian instantly feels guilty. Fuck, he should be more careful about what he says. 

“It’s alright, Freddie,” Brian says, his voice much softer. “ _I’m_ sorry - I just wish there was something I could do to help you, that’s all. I - well, I don’t know how long we’re going to be here…” 

Freddie feels his eyes stinging. Stupid. Don’t cry. It’s babyish to cry, especially over something like this. 

“N-not your fault,” he manages to get out, voice quiet. 

“It isn’t yours either,” Brian immediately interjects. He pauses, seeing how tense Freddie is, how he’s already fidgeting again after hardly being still at all… “Freddie? Is it - can you tell me how bad it is? It’s okay, no matter what - just - is it really bad, or…?” 

Freddie hesitates. “I don’t - um - I don’t know,” he says, voice still quiet, nervous. “K-kind of bad…” 

Bad. It is bad. But he doesn’t want to say it outright. He doesn’t want to say, oh god, Brian, I think I could piss myself in your car if we’re here for too much longer. He cannot say that. 

But it’s how he’s starting to feel. 

Brian, graciously, doesn’t press for an elaboration, even if he’s uncertain what “kind of bad” entails. 

“Okay - “ he moves forward again, only a couple of meters, and then things slow back down to a stop. Dammit. “Try not to worry, yeah? As soon as I can get out of all of this, I’ll find somewhere to pull over for you,” he promises. 

Freddie only nods in understanding. 

\---

After another twenty bloody minutes, Brian is having to suppress incredible frustration. Christ, they’ve hardly moved at all. The worst traffic jam he’s been a part of in ages, and it has to be now, doesn’t it? Now, when there’s a very, very wiggly and anxious Freddie sat next to him. 

Freddie, who gasps suddenly, a hand shooting down between his legs.

No. Oh, no. Hold it, Freddie pleads with himself. Please hold it — this is — this is Brian’s car, for fuck’s sake. He’ll surely be angry if you ruin the seat. He won’t forgive you, even if you pay for the cleaning. You’ll still be a disgusting baby, he’ll still be annoyed. He can’t. He mustn't - 

There’s - oh, god - there’s wetness now, though, he can feel it. His bladder feels rather like it’s on fire, it’s so full. The urgency, desperation, it’s crept up his spine, he feels it everywhere. He cannot be still, even for a moment. He’s fidgeting, tensing his legs together, squirming, shifting - anything. Anything to hold it - 

Including physically holding himself now, even though it makes his face burn in mortification. Brian is right here, right next to him - seeing everything. How pathetic he’s being. But it - it’s trying to come out -

It’s trying to come out, and his underwear is quite wet now, the dampness seeping through to his trousers. He can feel it, under his hand, the hand that’s clutching frantically to keep any more from leaking out. 

He has to go. He has to go now. Now, now, now, it’s bad. Painfully bad. 

And he can’t go. There’s nowhere to go - he’s stuck - he’s stuck, and thinking about how he’s stuck only makes it worse, and he whimpers without meaning to. 

Brian has been trying not to stare at him, not wanting him to feel watched or even more self-conscious, but he’d turned his attention back to hm a couple of moments ago, when he’d gasped. 

Fuck. 

He’s struggling, Brian can tell. He must be, to be… holding himself, like that. Fuck. 

“Oh - Freddie… love, it’s … hey. It’s okay. Listen, if you - if you can’t wait, it’ll be okay. I’m not going to be cross with you or anything,” Brian reassures, voice gentle and empathetic. He doesn’t know whether talking about it is the best thing, but surely he has to say something? It’s not that he - it’s not that he’s giving him permission to have an accident, it’s more about letting him know that he doesn’t need to be upset if he does. Because, really, looking at him… Brian is unfortunately quite convinced he won’t last much longer. Unless they start moving right this instant, he probably doesn’t have a great chance of making it somewhere now at all. 

Freddie is already upset, anyway. From glimpses of his face, Brian can tell he’s blushing, and tearful. 

“I - I - I can wait,” Freddie whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. He might as well be trying to convince himself of this as much as he’s trying to convince Brian. 

Brian, not for the first time in the past few minutes, wishes he had an empty bottle in the car. He’s already checked, though. There’s nothing. 

He doesn’t quite know what to say. He can’t say no, I don’t think you actually can hold it, Freddie. You’re probably going to wet yourself soon, by the looks of it. Freddie would absolutely die if he were to say such a thing. No sense in adding to his pain, so to speak.

Only a couple of minutes later, Freddie whimpers again.

It’s coming out. It’s coming out. There’s a sudden, awful, hot gush of wee, wetting his trousers even further under his hand. He only stops it for a moment before there’s another one, longer than before, almost a stream. No - no - no, please, he begs, but he’s only begging with himself, with his body that has had enough with all the waiting, and all the clenched muscles. 

His muscles start to relax, and he feels tears spill out of his eyes at the same moment more wee spills into his underwear. 

It’s a lot. Oh god - oh god - 

He can’t stop it. He clutches, desperately, squirming - and it does nothing. His aching, tired bladder has had enough. It’s giving up, and he can’t do anything about it. It’s coming out faster and faster, a stream, a fast stream - 

He feels sick with shame, burning up with it. He’s wetting himself. He’s wetting himself in the car. He’s wetting himself in the car with Brian. 

He sobs, suddenly. It’s like he can no longer hold the crying back, either. It’s all just coming out. 

It’s warm, disgusting. Urine soaks through his underwear, soaking his crotch, spreading quickly out from under his hand. It goes underneath him, wetting his bottom, wetting the seat. So much of it, so fast - too much. Too much. Too awful. Too wrong. 

“B-Brian - sorry - “ Freddie cries, the words frantic and garbled with tears.

Brian looks at him, but tries not to look at what’s happening at the same time. He sees anyway, though. He sees Freddie’s trousers darkening, sees the spreading stain. 

Oh, poor Freddie. 

Yes, it’s his car that’s getting wet, but Brian finds that right now, he doesn’t much care in the slightest. The only thing he’s worried about is Freddie. Gosh, he’s so upset… crying, apologizing… Brian only wishes he could make it, somehow, instantly better. 

“Don’t worry,” Brian says after a moment, when he finds his voice. “It’s okay - It’s just an accident. No big deal, Freddie, I promise. It’s okay.” 

Freddie doesn’t say anything, but privately, he does not agree. This _isn’t okay._ He’s never going to be able to make up for this. This is an awful, dirty thing. He feels almost paralyzed with embarrassment. How could he do this? 

It takes a minute for his bladder to empty. When things finally start to slow to a stop, he has to choke back another sob. He’s so, so wet. So, so uncomfortable. It’s warm at first, but already starting to cool, wet fabric clinging to his skin in the most awful way.

“Sorry,” Freddie whispers, after another moment of uncomfortable silence. “S-so sorry - didn’t mean to - “

“I know you didn’t, love,” Brian reassures, voice as gentle as he can make it. He tentatively reaches over, putting a hand on Freddie’s shoulder. “You couldn’t help it, I know you couldn’t. You... tried, alright? It’s not your fault we got stuck in the car. It isn’t. And I told you I wouldn’t be upset, right? I’m not upset - it’s okay, promise.” 

Freddie sniffles. His face is streaked with tears. It still doesn’t feel okay, but - but at least Brian is being nice about this, he thinks. He’s not acting cross. He’s not yelling. Freddie is still wracked with guilt, but at least Brian isn’t reacting horribly. 

“Sorry,” Freddie says again, without even meaning to. It’s like the guilt is spilling over. 

Brian is wonderfully patient. “You don’t have to apologize for this,” he says softly. “It’s okay.”

He rubs Freddie’s shoulder comfortingly, but then glances forward when the car in front of them moves, and continues moving, and he has to take his hand back to drive. 

“We might get out of here soon - and you can get cleaned up soon enough, yeah? It’s going to be alright,” Brian says, and perhaps he’s overdoing the reassurances, but he feels as if Freddie needs them. “Okay?”

Another sniffle. Then a very tiny voice says, “Okay.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and/or comments are always appreciated if you liked this! :)


End file.
